You used to leave the light on,for Mom, her security,but especially for late-nighters.

We would tiptoe inside.Grab the extra keyfrom the plastic utility drawer,last on the bottom right.Slide the key into the lock.Slowly open the door to whateverwrath of yours might await.

Sometimes, we pulled out Rice Chex,craving a bowl of cerealto coat the stomach after chasing beers.

You would wake from repose in the den,always a den, as if you stayed hidden,

remind us to turn off the lightswhen we went to bed.The night-light over kitchen desk stayed lit,as did the Virgin Mary lampon the stand outside your bedroom door.

That first Fall you moved near me,I would steer past,glance towards your fourth-floor apartment– where you would be sleeping– where you would watch football games.Lights from the second room, christened “den,”would be shiningon the path towards my home.I drove that route on purposecomforted by signals you were calling.

Now I look up, beyond the gas station glow.Your studio has gone dark.I cleaned out that room,gave away couches,flicked off the kitchen switch.I carried out the aluminum lampthat lit your den those years.Even without current,its afterglow would lead me home.

Vincenzella

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I once knew about kindness, when the wind blew in a stranger – not knowing my plight – yet seeing my soul – spoke words of wisdom to my spirit. It wasn’t until a year later I saw him again and was able to share my thankfulness.” – from a participant in City Gospel Mission’s Journey in Words, […]

Gettin’ My City On – by Annette Januzzi Wick: Gettin' My City On

This is my forty-sixth in a series of walking Cincinnati’s 52 neighborhoods to find what makes each relevant to me. Follow me on Instagram for a hint of where I’ll venture next. A week off had solidified my desire to complete this “walking project” strong. Still in re-entry mode and wanting a short walk, I drove to English […]